


Slushy Love

by qwartooty



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Yuri Plisetsky's birthday fic, lets hear it for domestic scenarios!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 19:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10343115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwartooty/pseuds/qwartooty
Summary: “Freestyle doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want, Vitya!” Yakov shouts. “It’s Yuuri’s turn to skate.Alone.”“But I’m his coach,” Viktor argues.“And I’myourcoach, but you don't see me jumping over the boards and touching you every two seconds. The poor kid can’t concentrate!”“Woops!” Viktor says, pulling his hands off Yuuri’s hips.“Woops my ass,” Yurio grumbles, watching Viktor reach out for Yuuri’s stomach the moment Yakov isn’t looking.(post episode 12 - in which Viktor loves domestic life, Yurio hates slush, and Yuuri accidentally feels up Otabek's leg)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! *hand guns* betcha didn't even notice I was gone. I mostly wrote this fic for Jazz, who is so great to me and I don't give her nearly enough Yurio in my writing. I also meant to finish this in time for Yurio's birthday, but hey! I only missed it by....... two weeks...
> 
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and crazy amounts of notes on my other fics! YOU ARE ALL SO GENEROUS! I hope you enjoy this one too!
> 
> [[tumblr](https://qwartooty.tumblr.com)]

The first day of March is by far the worst day ever.

March is when all the snow starts melting in St. Petersburg. Everything turns into wet slush during the day and lumpy frozen slush at night. The entire month of March is always cursed with harsh winds, freezing rain, and slush, slush, _slush_.

Yuri Plisetsky has special boots reserved just for slushy weather. They are as old as his grandfather (in other words, _ancient_ ), deteriorated by salt, and ugly beyond belief. Yurio makes sure they stayed hidden in the back of his closet for eleven months out of the year, only digging them out when he _absolutely_ needs them.

Which is somehow always- you guessed it- March 1st. This year would be no different, except that maybe (hopefully) he would finally grow out of his monstrous boots and have an excuse to buy new ones.

Yurio’s alarm goes off at the dark hour of 04:30. He fumbles for the side button on his phone, and then the shrill alarm is replaced by the heavy sound of rain on the roof.

Downstairs, Yurio’s grandfather is already awake and reading the morning paper at the kitchen table. He drinks slowly from a mug of black tea, but that isn’t what Yurio smells when he enters the cozy kitchen.

“Is that syrniki?” Yurio sniffs hopefully.

“You’re never surprised,” his grandfather grumbles, setting his newspaper aside to reveal a plate of steaming syrniki. Yurio sits down eagerly to eat, but his grandfather knocks his hand away. “Wait,” he tells him, getting up to fetch the sour cream and jam from the fridge. When he returns, Yurio sees he is also holding a candle and a lighter.

Yurio makes a face. “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” The old man sticks the small candle into the mountain of food and lights it. “Happy birthday, Yurochka.”

Yurio smiles despite his attitude. This is the only part of his birthday he genuinely likes. Before anyone else is awake, it’s always just him, his grandpa, and this stupid, tiny, really thoughtful candle.

With a stomach full of his favorite breakfast food, Yurio says goodbye to his grandpa and sets out to meet the worst day of the year head-on. The rain is coming down in torrents by the time Yurio sloshes to the bus stop wearing The Boots, which have the audacity to fit his feet perfectly this year.

He narrowly avoids a tsunami of slush when a car speeds by, which blares its horn at him for no reason.

He steps knee-deep in a frigid puddle while getting on the bus.

He loses his favorite hat to the ferocious wind when he gets off at the stop in front of the ice rink.

By the time he rescues the leopard-print beanie from a revolting pile of slush, Yurio is seriously considering going back home and sleeping until April. But then he thinks of Yuuri Katsuki and trudges on, knowing he’ll never keep up with his new rival if he slacks off. Even if it _is_ the worst month in history.

***

The freestyle portion of training goes more or less the same way it always has since Yuuri followed Viktor to St. Petersburg back in January.

“Freestyle doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want, Vitya!” Yakov shouts. “It’s Yuuri’s turn to skate. _Alone_.”

“But I’m his coach,” Viktor argues, ignoring the round of snickers coming from his Russian teammates.

Yakov frowns. “And I’m _your_ coach, but you don't see me jumping over the boards and touching _you_ every two seconds. The poor kid can’t concentrate!”

Yuuri’s face is a radiant red compared to the cool blue of his shirt. Viktor, noticing his embarrassment, pulls his hands off Yuuri’s hips and holds them up in surrender.

“Woops!”

Yakov sighs and turns his attention to Georgi, who’s putting a new routine together on the other side of the rink.

“Woops my ass,” Yurio grumbles, watching Viktor reach out for Yuuri’s stomach the moment Yakov isn’t looking.

“Victor, we’re at practice!”

“I’m only guiding you. You’re the one getting-”

“Don’t say it so loud!” Yuuri shushes him, his eyes scanning their surroundings. His gaze lands on Yurio, who is still watching them judgmentally. Yuuri’s flustered expression hardens into something more determined, and he spins back on Viktor.

“Later,” he says in a low voice, probably meant for Viktor’s ears only. “You can touch me all you want at home if you stop touching me at practice.”

Viktor’s hands stop moving. “What, really? Anytime?”

“I-I meant tonight,” Yuuri says, gradually losing his cool now that he’s facing Viktor. “Or whenever… I mean, not all the time, but only if you want to. You know what? Never mind. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“No, I’ll do it!” Viktor says, sounding a little too excited. He takes his hands off Yuuri and skates back to the boards. “Tonight for sure! And then whenever!”

“Too easy!” Yurio shouts at him, but only Yuuri seems to hear it. Viktor is too busy attempting to climb over the boards without looking away from his boyfriend.

Mila walks out of the locker rooms and sees Viktor fumbling gracelessly to the floor. “Use the gate like a normal person,” she says with a snort, going over and whacking him with her sweat towel.

“I think I’m in over my head,” Viktor admits, grabbing the end of the towel and patting his brow. “He said _whenever_.”

“I don’t want to know.”

Yuuri, meanwhile, shakes off his obvious embarrassment and begins skating in a slow circle. Yurio watches him closely, catching the moment he slips back into focus. Yuuri takes off on his first jump without hesitating, but he wobbles on the landing.

Yurio scoffs and brings his leg up to rest on the board. He leans forward into a stretch, keeping his eyes on the floor for a few minutes until he hears Yuuri wipe out on the ice.

“Not my problem,” Yurio tells himself out loud. He looks up anyway, and then realizes Yakov has come over to stand beside him.

“What’s not your problem?” Yakov asks knowingly.

Yurio doesn’t answer.

“He’s dedicated,” Yakov says.

“I’m dedicated,” Yurio bites.

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” Yakov glances at him. “Isn’t it time to switch?”

Yurio is too busy watching Yuuri now to register Yakov’s words. “Hm?”

“Your leg. You’ve been stretching your left hamstring for too long.”

“Oh.” Yurio lowers his leg with a wince, wobbling on it like it’s made of jelly.

“Just because you beat Yuuri Katsuki once doesn’t make you the better skater, so keep working hard,” Yakov admonishes him.

“I know,” Yurio grumbles. He wants this conversation to be over.

“It’s good to have a rival, but don’t let it distract you.”

“I’m not the one getting distracted,” Yurio argues, but he knows it’s not true. He’s almost as distracted as Viktor these days, just in a _very_ different way.

Yakov looks like he’s about to say something else, but Viktor’s voice cuts him off.

“Relax your shoulders, Bublik! You’re too stiff!”

Yakov sputters.

“Ah,” Viktor covers his mouth, his ears going pink. “I didn't mean to use it in public.”

“Gross!” Yurio shouts across at him. “What else do you call him? Luchik? _Sakharok?_ ”

Viktor goes pinker and makes a shushing motion with his hands.

“I wonder if Yuuri even knows what those mean,” Yakov murmurs, looking more embarrassed than Yurio’s ever seen him.

The sound of Yuuri’s blades lifting off the ice pulls everyone’s attention back to the rink. Yuuri rotates high through the air and lands his jump without a hitch.

Yurio grinds his teeth, envy filling his gut. “He did it.”

Yakov pats Yurio on the shoulder, smiling. Yuuri glides around, his face practically glowing.

“Viktor! Did you see that?”

Viktor leans forward on the boards and smiles, instantly in la-la-land.

***

“Are you still coming over for lunch today?” Yuuri asks.

Yurio looks up. “Huh? Lunch?”

They’re sitting on a bench in the locker room, getting ready to leave for their midday break. Yuuri is unwrapping his ankles while Viktor stands at the door, obviously trying to look anywhere but Yuuri’s feet. Yurio has been noticing Viktor’s weird obsession for a while now, but it seems like Yuuri is still oblivious.

Yuuri looks hurt. “Yeah, we invited you last week. We were going to eat in the park, remember?”

Yurio shoves his feet into The Boots and is horrified to discover the right one is still wet from this morning. He turns to the others with a grimace. “It’s March. What the hell did you expect? Sunshine?”

“I mean, you sounded up for it when we asked you…”

Viktor chimes in. “He was texting Otabek when we asked.”

Yurio tenses upon hearing his friend’s name. “What does Otabek have to do with anything?”

Viktor shrugs. “I’m just saying, maybe you were distracted.”

“How do you know who I was texting? Stalker much?”

“You were smiling at your phone,” Viktor grins.

Yurio opens his mouth to tell him to fuck off, but then his phone starts ringing.

“Ohh, who’s that?” Yuuri asks, wearing a sly grin that matches Viktor’s.

“My mom, you assholes,” Yurio snaps. He stands up and makes to leave so he can answer it.

“Wait!” Yuuri calls after him. “Lunch?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll meet you there.” He was planning on hanging out at their place anyway. He usually does after morning and afternoon practice (“It’s convenient, okay?!”), so he doesn’t know why they feel the need to invite him this time.

***

After managing not to hang up on his mom’s painfully slow rendition of Happy Birthday, Yurio heads over to Viktor’s apartment.

Viktor and Yuuri’s apartment.

It’s… cute, he guesses. As much as Yurio calls them gross or dorky or annoying, they’re clearly soul mates or whatever. The amount that Viktor has changed will take some getting used to. He isn’t nearly as cool as he used to be, but he’s definitely more… _centered_.

Yurio is about to buzz into the building when someone walks out. No point in waiting down here in the rain when he can just slip in before the door closes. He takes the elevator to the fourth floor, finds their door, and knocks.

He waits a minute, and then knocks again. He can hear the shower running, and Viktor’s voice… singing? Makkachin’s barking on the other side, but no one seems to be coming to let him in.

“Open up!” he shouts this time, banging his fist on the door. Someone yelps, and now he can hear Viktor laughing. Yurio glares at the peephole, shifting back and forth between soggy boot and not-soggy boot.

“You guys better not be sexing it up in there!” he yells extra loud, hoping they’ll be embarrassed if their neighbors hear him. Makkachin’s barks go up a notch in volume.

A door slams somewhere, and a second later Yuuri opens the door, his hair dripping and his glasses fogging up. He’s fully clothed, at least.

“Yurio? Is that you?” Yuuri pants, blind behind his steamy glasses.

“Ew, you _were_ sexing it up,” Yurio accuses, fighting off an excited Makkachin. The dog nearly tackles him to the ground.

Yuuri wipes his glasses off. “We weren’t… Uh, we were just-”

“Showering together,” Yurio finishes for him. “Whatever. Feed me.”

“Right,” Yuuri steps back as he wipes of his glasses. “Sorry. I didn't hear you buzz.”

“That’s cuz I didn’t.” Yurio kicks his boots off and hangs his coat and beanie on the usual hook by the door. By the time Yuuri catches up to him in the kitchen, he’s already raiding their fridge, while Makkachin sniffs at his socks. “What’s this huge box in here?” he asks, pointing at the white cardboard taking up half the fridge.

Yuuri jolts forward. “That’s for later!”

Yurio is about to ask what’s happening later, but then Viktor starts singing in the bathroom again. “What is that?” he asks, not being able to place the familiar English song.

“He’s been singing a lot of Elvis Presley lately,” Yuuri tells him, closing the fridge door distractedly. “Have you had nikuman before?”

Yurio thinks back on his trip to Japan. “I don’t know. Did your mom ever make it for us?”

“I don't think so.”

“Then probably not,” Yurio says, sitting at his usual stool.

“Let’s eat in the living room,” Yuuri suggests, grabbing a plate from the counter. “We can have an indoor picnic since it’s too wet to eat in the park.”

Yurio laughs at this. “You seriously thought it would be nice enough to eat outside?”

“Well, yeah. Why not? March isn’t always this gloomy, is it?”

“It is.”

Yuuri suddenly looks sad.

“What?” Yurio asks. “It’s not like you're going to live here forever, right?”

“That’s not…” Yuuri trails off, but then he smiles brightly. “But bad weather doesn't mean it has to be a bad day, right? Let’s eat!”

“Uh… right,” Yurio says, confused by his mood swings.

Makkachin bounces along beside them into part of the apartment that holds Viktor’s designer couch. Viktor added a second, much comfier couch once Yuuri moved in, and the rainwater now cascading down the large windows behind the television throw rippling shadows over the furniture and the hardwood floor. Yurio takes his one soggy sock off and puts it on the radiator in the corner to dry, while Yuuri lays down a thick blanket and multiple pillows in front of the television before putting the plate of nikuman in the middle.

The water running in the bathroom shuts off, but Viktor keeps on singing. Yuuri hums along for a while, going back into the kitchen. Yurio sits on one of the pillows and listens to the sounds of the house, its occupants, and the rain.

He looks around. The lamps around the room warmly light the makeshift picnic, and the shadows from the rain add a strange otherworldly effect. It feels immensely cozy, and Makkachin cuddles up next to Yurio, sneakily eying the buns in the middle of the blanket.

Yuuri returns with a steaming canister of something and three mugs.

“He’s not very good,” Yurio comments, nodding his head in the direction of the bathroom.

Yuuri shrugs, setting the mugs down on the blanket. “I think he’s okay.”

“You’re biased,” Yurio points out, which makes Yuuri laugh.

“True.”

Yuuri pours what smells like hot coco into the mugs. Yurio takes it and leans back against the base of the newer couch. Yuuri sighs contently and grabs a meat bun.

Viktor emerges a minute later, steam rolling into the living room. He’s fully clothed and barefoot, but still has a towel around his neck. Makkachin’s tail wags against Yurio’s thigh.

“Cause your kisses lift me higher,” Viktor sings, zooming away into the kitchen. “Like the sweet song… Where are you guys?”

Yuuri laughs, and Yurio tries not to choke on his drink.

Viktor hears them and reappears in the living room area. “Aha! You light my morning sky!” he continues singing, grabbing Yuuri’s hand and pulling him up. Yuuri yelps, clutching his meat bun tightly with his free hand, while Makkachin bolts up and runs around their legs. “With burning love.”

“Watch the drinks!” Yuuri yells, watching the dog narrowly miss a mug on the floor.

“Please,” Yurio says, reaching for a meat bun. “I’m losing my appetite.”

Viktor laughs and gives Yuuri a quick peck on the nose. “Thanks for making lunch.”

Yuuri is significantly redder than he was a few seconds ago. “N-No problem.”

“Yup,” Yurio announces, biting the food. “Appetite gone.”

“Then why are you still eating?” Viktor asks, finally sitting down.

 _Because it’s freaking delicious_ , Yurio thinks. It must show on his face, too, because Yuuri meets his eyes and gives him an appreciative smile.

Yurio's phone buzzes, and he checks his messages. His heart thumps hard against his ribcage when he sees it’s from Otabek.

_O: How is your birthday so far?_

Yurio grins. Otabek is the only person who knows how much he hates his birthday.

_Y: Actually… Not terrible._

_O: I’m glad._

Yurio can feel Viktor and Yuuri’s gazes on him. “What?” he snaps, looking up and locking his phone.

“Nothing,” Viktor says innocently. Yuuri smirks into his meat bun.

***

Yurio is sweating when he gets off the ice. Yakov nods at him proudly.

“You really stepped up this afternoon. Good to have some motivation constantly around you, I suppose. It’s really starting to show.”

Yurio peers up at him, not sure what he’s referring to. But Yakov is already looking away, shock written all over his face.

“Vitya, what the heck do you think you’re doing?” Yakov shouts. “We talked about this today. And yesterday. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve talked to you about this every single day for the past two months.”

Yurio follows his gaze. Viktor is over on the side of the ice, this time tangled up in Yuuri while teaching him what appears to be the Full Biellmann position.

“Talked to me about what?” he asks lightly.

Yakov grumbles something indistinct, glancing at his watch. “Training is over for the day, anyway. Make sure you cool down and stretch before you leave.”

Yurio looks at the giant clock on the wall. “But we’ve still got a full hour of practice.”

Everyone else disperses, throwing smiles or waving at Yurio. He looks around at Yuuri, who sits down at a bench and works on his laces. Viktor gives the feet a longing look as they emerge from their skates, and then tears his eyes away and looks directly at Yurio.

Yurio rolls his eyes. _Just help him with his skates_ , he thinks, and then he turns toward the locker rooms.

“Yurio, hold on,” Viktor calls out to him. “Get some water, and then meet me on the ice in five minutes.”

“Why?” Yurio asks.

“Yakov is letting me coach you one-on-one for today,” Viktor says. “That’s why he ended training early.”

Warmth blooms in Yurio’s chest, but he swallows it down. “Oh, okay. Cool.”

Viktor smiles.

“You better not go easy on me!” Yurio shouts.

***

Viktor definitely does not go easy on him. By the time afternoon training over, Yurio hurts all over. It’s been a while since he’s pushed himself right up to the edge of his limit.

He’s ecstatic.

“Are you done stretching?” Viktor asks, throwing him a water bottle.

Yurio catches it and nods from where he sits on the floor. He uncaps it and chugs, letting out a satisfied gasp when he’s done. “That was great,” he says, about the water, about the training, all of it. His muscles ache just right, and he feels thoroughly satisfied.

“You coming over for dinner?” Viktor asks, a little too casually.

Yurio looks up at the windows lining the training center to see if the sun has set yet, wondering if he should call home and let them know he won’t be back for dinner again. It’s not until he sees the charcoal clouds that he remembers the shitty weather.

Just then, however, a sparkle from the setting sun peaks through the low clouds and momentarily blinds him. It falters and fades just as fast as it had appeared. Yurio slowly opens his eyes to see Viktor watching him expectantly.

“I usually do, don’t I?” he asks, suddenly defensive. He remembers Yuuri’s sad expression upon hearing that March is always gloomy. “You guys know it’s my birthday, don't you?”

Viktor looks at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether to lie or not. In the end, he just sighs. “You’ll still come over, right? I didn’t want to say anything, because I know how much you hate birthday stuff.”

“Where’s Yuuri?” Yurio asks, his tone accusing.

Viktor’s shoulders slump. “At home… making your birthday dinner.”

“So the coaching thing was just a distraction?”

Viktor’s head snaps up. “What? No! The coaching thing was my birthday present to you. The dinner is just a bit fancier than usual. You always have dinner with us on weeknights. No big deal, right?”

Yurio can tell Viktor is trying to downplay everything they’ve done for him. “But the lunch-”

“The picnic element was going to be part one of Yuuri’s present. That optimistic angel, bless him, despite what the weatherman said…”

Yurio was staring hard at Viktor. “Part one?”

Viktor started rubbing his hands together nervously. “Sorry, it turns out Yuuri really likes birthdays. I told him not to make a big deal, but his present is actually three things. First, a picnic. Then, he went and got you a-”

“Don't ruin it!” Yurio shouts, throwing the empty water bottle at him.

It pings off Viktor’s arm when he blocks it. “What?”

“It’s my present, right? Don't go ruining other people’s surprises!”

They look at each other for a moment while Viktor works things out in his head.

“Does that mean you’re coming?” Viktor finally asks.

“Fine!” Yurio snaps, gathering his things. “Only an idiot like you would let fancy food go to waste.”

***

On the way home, Viktor stops at the small flower shop on the corner of his and Yuuri’s block.

“I don't want flowers,” Yurio argues, trying to drag Viktor away from the colorful display.

“They’re not for you,” Viktor assures him. He shakes out his umbrella as he shoves them both through the doorway. A bell chimes overhead, and the scent of a hundred different flowers assault their noses at once.

“Ah, Mr. Nikiforov!” two shop attendants greet in unison.

“They know you by name?” Yurio grumbles, pulling up his hood.

“I’m quite famous, you know,” Viktor reminds him.

“We haven’t seen you in almost a week! Trouble in paradise?” the attendant at the counter jokes.

“If there was trouble, he would be stopping by twice a day!” the other attendant laughs, and Viktor joins in.

“How often do you come here?!” Yurio hisses from behind.

The three hyenas calm down, and Viktor finally gets down to business. “I’m looking for something bright. About this big,” he says, holding his hands around an imaginary bouquet the size of his head.

The two attedndants titter around the shop, assembling a primarily yellow bouquet of different flowers.

“The usual accent, please,” Viktor says once the masterpiece if complete. Once the blue and pink silk is tied around the stems, Viktor pays, exchanges farewells (“See you tomorrow!”), and leaves the shop with a _ding-a-ling!_ from the bell.

“What the hell?” is all Yurio can say as they slosh up the sidewalk to the apartment. Viktor hands the bouquet to him as he searches for his keys.

“Yellow flowers when the sky is grey,” Viktor explains absentmindedly. He finds his keys and unlocks the front of the building. “Basic relationship rules.”

“Have you been watching a lot of Disney movies?” Yurio laughs at him.

Viktor kicks some slush at him before ducking inside the building.

***

Dinner is beyond delicious. There’s miso soup, shrimp tempura, vegetable tempura, chicken kiev, mini pirozhki, pickled vegetables, and katsudon.

“I couldn’t decide what to make,” Yuuri explains. “And why did you tell him it was _fancy?_ Now he’s bound to be disappointed!”

Part two of Yuuri’s birthday gift is the cardboard box in the fridge. Inside are two small cakes- a triple chocolate cake and a strawberry shortcake. Viktor sets them out on the table, but won’t let Yurio touch them. Yuuri keeps checking his phone excitedly.

“But they’re my cakes,” Yurio tells Viktor. “Why can’t I eat them?”

“We have to wait for part three of Yuuri’s gift,” Viktor says.

Yuuri’s phone vibrates, and he shoots up from the table. “Be right back!” he says, and runs out of the apartment, not stopping to put on his shoes.

Yurio narrows his eyes. “What’s going on?”

But Viktor just clasps his hands together and smiles. He starts humming the same Elvis song as before while they wait for Yuuri to come back.

Voices break out in the hallway. Yuuri’s concerned voice is muffled through the door, and Yurio leans over in his stool to see around the corner as the front door swings open.

“I’ll go grab you some dry clothes right away,” Yuuri says to the person behind him.

“It’s fine,” says a familiar voice, and Yurio nearly falls off his stool. “I have a bunch of dry clothes in the duffle.”

Yurio’s heart hammers in his chest, and he doesn’t know whether to hide or scream or run to the door. In the end, he just freezes.

Otabek is standing in the doorway, his pants soaked and his leather jacket dripping with slush. He has a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and his motorcycle helmet tucked under an arm.

“Oh,” he says, his eyes locking on Yurio’s. “Hi. Happy birthday.”

Yurio opens his mouth to say thank you, but ends up bursting out laughing instead. “What happened?”

Otabek’s serious expression breaks into a small smile. “I fell in slush.”

“Better get those clothes off before you come in any further,” Viktor says, making sure not to look at Yurio.

Yurio immediately stops laughing when Otabek agrees and proceeds to unzip his jacket. He shrugs it off, his wet bangs covering his eyes as his hands move down to pull off his shoes. The next thing that comes off are his socks, then his wet jeans, and finally, slowly, his shirt.

_Thank you slush, thank you slush, thank you slush._

“Woah there,” Yuuri all but shouts when Otabek’s fingers find the band of his underwear. “Those don’t appear to be wet.”

Otabek looks down. “Oh, you’re right. Lucky.”

“Lucky indeed,” Viktor says, sounding disappointed. Both Yuuri and Yurio throw him a disapproving look.

“Uh,” Yurio says, trying not to sound breathless. Otabek looks up at him from where he was digging through his duffle for clean clothes. Yurio stares for another second and then points down. “We have cake.”

“Oh, what kind?” Otabek asks, his arm muscles flexing as he zips the duffle closed.

“V-Vanilla…”

“So close,” Viktor whispers.

Yurio nearly stabs him with a fork.

Once Otabek is clothed (and Yurio can breathe again), they all sit down for cake. Otabek doesn’t talk much, but every time Yurio glances at him, Otabek’s eyes are already on him.

“After this,” Otabek says after a few bites, “do you want to go for a ride?”

Yurio’s heart gives a squeeze. He looks over at Yuuri and Viktor hopefully.

“Why are you looking at us?” Yuuri asks. “We’re not your parents.”

“Well, actually,” Viktor says. “Isn’t it pretty dangerous to be riding that thing in this weather?”

Otabek gives him a thumbs-up. “The main roads are clear. I’ll go slow.”

“What about a helmet?” Viktor asks.

“Viktor,” Yurio begins to argue, but Otabek gives him another thumbs-up.

“I brought Yura’s helmet with me.”

Viktor nods, seeming pleased. “Okay.”

“I didn’t need your approval,” Yurio mutters, and then begins shoveling cake into his mouth as fast as possible.

Otabek takes another bite, chews slowly, and then swallows with a troubled look on his face.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he says suddenly.

Yuuri looks surprised at being addressed. “Yes?”

“You’ve been trying to play footsie with the wrong person for about five minutes,” he says.

Yuuri and Viktor both freeze mid-chew.

***

Yurio tightens his arms around Beka’s torso as they turn a corner. The view through his helmet- _his_ helmet- is stunning. The roads are shiny and sparkle with the reflections of traffic lights and brightly lit windows. Beka is solid, his leather jacket still wet but awesome-looking, and the events of Yurio’s birthday seem to ride along with them, warm and comfy in his chest.

His old boots fit perfectly on each side of the motorcycle, and Yuri Plisetsky thinks for the first time in his life that March might not be that bad after all.


End file.
